


love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence

by PaigeTico



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Minor Warstan, Potterlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaigeTico/pseuds/PaigeTico
Summary: Sherlock Holmes would have preferred to dispense with frivolities such as the Yule Ball, but being the Hogwarts Triwizard Champion, he needs a date.





	1. 1

As Head of Ravenclaw House, it is my duty to inform you of upcoming school-wide events-so it, of course, falls to me to remind you of the Yule Ball,'

Sherlock ground his teeth inwardly. If he had the choice he would have stayed in his dormitory while others danced and drank and accidentally hexed their tongue into knots and whatnot at the ball, but alas, he was the Triwizard Champion of Hogwarts and so was required to start the dancing. 

Not that he was bad at dancing, though. Combat training had made it so that he held and moved himself with a sort of natural grace and dancing had come easily to him. No, it was just that balls required socialising. No doubt whoever he danced with would try to make conversation with him, probably nowhere near anything to do with his interests. 

Of course, there was one girl....

No. She’d never want to go with him.

The Charms class was just ending, and Sherlock was already packed up as others scrambled to shove their books into their bags. He hurried off to Transfiguration and cut through a fake tapestry to avoid crowds.

He stopped short in front of the Transfiguration classroom.

And found Molly Hooper in front of him.

‘Molly,’ he blurted.

She blinked those long, beautiful eyelashes of hers. ‘Oh, hello, Sherlock.’

God damn the consequences, here was his only chance at getting a decent date for the Yule Ball. 

‘Molly, I need to talk to you about something. I, uh, I need something. Something only you can give me.’ Oh, God. He was rambling now.

The crowds were approaching now. That was bad enough, but Mycroft was also passing by. 

‘I’ll tell you later,’ he mumbled.

Transfiguration was easy. Far too easy. Sherlock knew everything in the textbook already and he only half paid attention to the teacher in case she called on him. She never did, though. None of the teachers did. He thought that might have something to do with the time he’d informed the Potions teacher that the cat fur on her robes might contaminate any potions she made and that they also indicated that her husband was cheating on her, because it was obvious that she was allergic to cats.

When the lesson ended, he hurried off to Ravenclaw tower without so much as looking twice at Molly.

A whole week later, Sherlock still didn’t have a dance for the Yule Ball.

***

‘So, when are you going to ask her to go to the ball with you?’ inquired Molly innocently.

John visibly blanched. ‘Ask who?

‘Mary Morstan, of course! Who else? It’s obvious you’re both head over heels in love with each other!’

‘Well, what about you?’ snapped John, acting as if Molly had not said anything.

‘What about me?’

‘When are you going to ask Sherlock? It’s not like he’d ever be able to work up the nerve to ask anyone out!’

Now it was Molly’s turn to fall silent.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old enemies, thinking they're friends.

Like usual, Sherlock ate breakfast alone. Not like usual, Molly Hooper had gotten up from the Gryffindor table and was now walking in his general direction. Not sure what else to do, he pretended not to notice her and continued eating, even though his kippers had suddenly lost their appeal.

‘Sherlock,’ said Molly. ‘You wanted to ask me something yesterday?’

He thought himself very lucky that he was not the type to easily blush. He allowed himself the liberty of marveling at how Molly was not conventionally beautiful, lacking features such as high cheekbones or a teardrop shaped face, and yet she was lovely in her own way. Strong, loyal and clear-minded.

Sherlock looked up and said, ‘I need a date. For the ball. And I’d like you to come with me.’ Too sharp, too direct, he silently berated himself.

To his very great surprise, Molly smiled and nodded. ‘Sure, I’d love to come.’

***

Molly definitely had not expected that to go so well, or, indeed, for it to happen in the manner that it did. She’d rehearsed it in her mind several times. She’d imagined that Sherlock would ask her for something, perhaps a favor, and Molly would agree, then change the subject to the ball.

Obviously, she didn’t know Sherlock as well as she’d thought.

Returning to the Gryffindor table, she nearly crashed into an all-too-familiar figure. 

The fifth year’s dark hair contrasted with pale, vampire-like skin. Like Sherlock, she thought absently. But his eyes—

James Moriarty’s eyes were dark and dead, nothing at all like Sherlock’s cold and icy eyes. His lilting Irish accent curled around him as he smiled, all snake-like, and drawled grandly, ‘Why, if it isn’t the beautiful Molly Hooper,’

She thought about avoiding his eyes, but opted instead to actually be a Gryffindor and meet his stone-dead gaze. ‘Hello, James.’

Moriarty exhaled and simpered, ‘Oh, Molly, just because we aren’t dating anymore doesn’t mean we have to dispense with all informalities, do we? Please do call me Jim. I very much like hearing it in your voice.’

Molly changed her mind. He was not a serpent. Snakes were the symbol of Slytherin House, and they represented cunning and ambition. Moriarty exhibited both of these qualities, but to call him a snake was an immense insult to snakes.

He was a shadow. He was dark and unknowable, inevitably existing when light shone. 

Moriarty continued. ‘Molly, perhaps we could mend that bridge a little. Would you do me a favor and go to the Yule Ball with me?’

Molly smiled right back at him and replied sweetly, ‘Oh, Jim, I’d love to go with you… but I’ve already asked someone else.’ 

She took much pleasure at seeing the expression on Moriarty’s face. It was gone in an instant.

‘Well, surely they wouldn’t mind going with someone else?’

Molly stared him down as best she could, being several inches shorter than him. ‘I am not your toy to play with. I have a life to live. You were using me to get close to Sherlock; that will never happen again. I am going with someone else, and that is for me to decide, not you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my table.’ 

She pushed him aside and stalked off.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dance to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry this is so late. I came back from holiday to find that the first two chapters had been featured by the holidays-at-221b Tumblr blog but I only had my phone to write with for more than a week. Anyways, enjoy this short, hastily written chapter!

'You look lovely,' said Sherlock, by means of greeting. Molly was dressed on a simple silvery-gray long-sleeved dress that contrasted and complimented his dark blue dress robes. 'It's time,' he murmured, more to himself than Molly. 

'I can't dance, ' Molly suddenly realized. 

'Just follow my lead. I'm sure you'll be spectacular,' reassured Sherlock. 

Sherlock took Molly's hand in his and placed the other on her waist, and began to dance. 

Most of the evening passed in a blur. To Molly's very great surprise, Sherlock was actually an excellent dancer. As he promised, Sherlock took the lead as he swept her across the tiled floor. During the initial dance she vaguely noticed people staring; that was probably because no one had expected someone as hostile as Sherlock to find a date such as Molly Hooper, the quiet fourth-year who spent her free time helping in the hospital wing. Molly smiled inwardly, knowing that it was _her_ that he had chosen to go with, and not one of the crowds of air-headed girls who had undoubtedly been chasing after him for his looks. She pitied them; in the beginning even Molly herself had not been able to see past his handsome high cheekbones framed by a head of tousled black hair. And his eyes! Depending on the light they could appear blue, green, gray, or a combination of all three.

Those girls had probably been viciously rejected and left to nurse their mental wounds. Sherlock could be like that sometimes. He had been like that to her at first. 

The song ended, and another started, but Sherlock removed his hand from her waist and led her to a table. 

Molly heard him sigh, and looked up to find Sherlock's head slightly dipped, fingers steepled. She had known him for so long that she knew how to read the signs now—Sherlock could only take so much social interaction before shutting down.

'Common room?' asked Molly.   
'Yeah.'  
Sherlock took her hand once again and the pair quietly left the Great Hall. Molly had never been to Ravenclaw Tower; in any case she would not have been able to get past the fabled eagle doorknob. 

'A Muggle lies dead in a room locked from the inside, next to a puddle of bloody water. No magic was involved. How did he die?' asked the knocker. 

'He stabbed himself,' replied Sherlock, 'with an icicle, which then melted away.'

The door swung open to reveal the Ravenclaw common room. It was not at all that different from Gryffindor's, but there was a distinct air of ancient knowledge and learning in the silence. The room was, as she had expected, furnished in mostly blue and bronze, with eagles delicately embroidered on the curtains and the house motto: wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure. 

Sherlock sank into a wide armchair by the fire, one that many would call a loveseat, because there was just enough space for Molly to curl up in but not to spread out. It was not at all uncomfortable; in fact, she quite liked it. 

Molly rested her head on his bony shoulder, and he lay his head against hers.

'Stay with me,' he murmured, her hand still in his. 

'Of course,' whispered Molly.


End file.
